


Where in my Mind Palace

by bluechaostamer



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock BBC
Genre: M/M, Mind Palace, Mind Palace John, Sherlock discovering finding out he loves John, but really preslash, slash or friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:21:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10098011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluechaostamer/pseuds/bluechaostamer
Summary: Sherlock tries to figure out where John fits in his mind palace. Preslash.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had a block on the next chapter of another series, and was watching a bit of Sherlock when I thought of this little baby oneshot.
> 
> I'm not a major analysis person in terms of how Sherlock's Mind Palace works or anything. I know there are many theories and such over how it works, and I'm sure I don't have a very accurate depiction, but I just randomly thought up of this and wanted to write it. I never planned on writing any Sherlock fics honestly, but I REALLY ship these two. I have a thing for bickering pairs, I guess. I hope you like it!

Sherlock watched as Watson leaned against the counter with the newspaper, waiting for the tea to be ready. He had the paper open in his hands, but his gaze rose toward the detective.

“So what now?” Watson asked lightly, looking around and then back at Sherlock.

“I can store you," Sherlock stated, pacing back and forth, "but it is only a matter of where at this point,” he stopped pacing and eyed his friend.

“Store me?” he gave a sarcastic chuckle as he carefully folded the newspaper. He placed it on the counter and turned off the stove with his back to Sherlock, “of course, I’m simply data. Leave it to the great detective Sherlock Holmes to lock up his best friend in some sort of cabinet,” he gestured vaguely in around the room. They were in the living room now. Sherlock looked around. The living room wasn’t going to be the best storage for him,

“Come with me,” he ordered. John grimaced, “Not like I don’t spend enough of my life following you,” he muttered.

Sherlock stepped out and to his corridors, wondering where Watson would fit in all of this. He walked through the halls, swiftly opening and slamming doors shut impatiently. Nothing seemed like a good fit, nothing!

Watson had his hands jammed in his pockets, looking around curiously, “Mind palace, huh? Amazing,” he whispered the last part in a daze, and Sherlock paused for a fraction of a second before continuing his search. “So what’s all this then,” the doctor appeared in front of him this time, next to one of the doors just ahead of him. He lightly tapped on the door lightly with his knuckles, “you have valuable information, you store it in a room, and then you pull them back up when you need them, correct?”

“Obviously, John, as if there is a need to go over this,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. But that was a valid observation. Watson himself was not a thing to store. He did, however associated him with his cases. He was special. Bouncing ideas, thoughts, Watson was like a-

“Hard drive, maybe?” The doctor supplied, Sherlock squinted at him, “perhaps, but you don’t have any information to supply, you simply… induce it," Sherlock waved his hands to move his thoughts along, "you’re like a… conductor of some kind.”

Watson looked at him confused, “I’m sorry, conductor? Was that a try at a compliment? I’d ask you try again next time, but I’d better thank that you’d attempted at all.”

Sherlock paused looking around his corridors, “Nothing. I have nowhere to file you, yet you carry importance that I may need in the future.” Watson gave him tired look. One a mother would give to her clueless son, “Sherlock, people can’t be filed away, I don’t recall you ever filing away people. Simply facts. Besides, anyone who appears in your palace is simply a manifestation of someone associated to the topic in question.”

Sherlock looked John over, “What are you a manifestation of, then?”

John crossed his arms and waited for him to come up with an answer. “You are with me in every case, yet you have no important data to produce that I cannot come up with on my own-”

“I resent that,” John supplied casually, very accustomed to the subtle jabs at his person.

“You correct my moral values-“ he blinked, turning quickly to him. John raised his brows with him, waiting to be told information, “You are my moral codes.”

John blinked, frowning, “But you don’t use them,”

“But I know them,”

“Doubtful,” John chuckled, “considering I must remind you of them constantly. You don’t store that ‘useless nonsense’ in here,” he made air quotes in the air, “Go on. Try to find one. Highly doubt you’d make it past a ‘please’.”

“Then why are you so important to contain in my mind palace?!” Sherlock cried out in frustration looking at the ground. He NEEDED John, but he wasn’t sure as to why.

“You are looking in the wrong place,” he whispered kindly. He walked passed him, with his arms tucked behind his back, curiously peering at the doors around him, but never opening any. Sherlock strode toward him, wondering where he was going, “Where should I be looking, then?”

“Morals, emotions, ‘bit not good’, I’m important to you, yes? But hardly in terms of a cold hard facts,” He looked at a sealed door hidden away, breaking away from his objective for a moment, “why are you still thinking about that loon?” he stated, pointing at the room leading to Moriarty’s cell. Sherlock blinked, remembering that chamber, “Feelings… my heart,” Sherlock muttered, "My heart!"

He glanced at Watson, who was frowning disapprovingly at the chamber, “You belong in my heart.”

“Never took you for a cheesy chap, Sherlock,” Watson turned back to him and rose a brow, teasingly. He walked by him, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Heart? That isn’t in the mind palace, now is it?”

Sherlock looked into Watson’s eyes, confused, “You… you are…”

Watson raised his brows, “I am?”

“You are everything,” the detective whispered, still confused himself, “You are everywhere. You know me, trust me, there is no way I am able to trick you… I…I trust you implicitly,”

Watson gave a quick smile, “I’m special to you. I’m your best friend. Probably-“ he squinted his eyes in thought, “even… more, yes?”

“Far more,” Sherlock whispered, stepping closer to him, his expression still trying to figure out what to make of the direction this dialogue was going.

“But I’m not gay,” John supplied (oh so helpfully), giving a tight smile. Sherlock stopped walking, frowning, “Yes, you’ve informed me several times.”

John cocked his head, “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“Not a chance,” the detective continued approaching him, almost leaning over John, who stared straight into the taller man’s eyes. He wasn’t gay, but he wasn’t completely straight, either, Watson was-

“Snap out it, will you?” a voice called out to him.

Sherlock blinked out of his Mind Palace. His eyes searched around to make out where he was. 221B, kitchen. His hands where intertwined together and his chin rested on his hands. He glanced up to see Watson with a bored expression, staring at him as he lifted his cup to sip his tea. “What could you possibly be doing in that Mind Palace of yours? We haven’t had a case in three days. You’ve been out of sorts for an hour and a half,” the doctor looked at his watch, “curiosity got the best of me. Go on, what were you thinking of?”

Sherlock frowned collecting himself from his thoughts, “You have no idea when I entered in my Mind Palace. I was sitting on my own before I entered it,” his frown morphed into a grimace, “besides, my Mind Palace is no showcase to sedate your boredom, John. You wouldn’t grasp half of its complexity.”

John snorted, “You can’t be serious. Perhaps I wouldn’t grasp the complexity, but you are in no position whatsoever to scold me on what I search for entertainment,” he pointed at the living room, “You are seriously losing your touch if you didn’t notice me sitting in the couch. I can see you just fine from there.” Sherlock spared a glance in the seat that Watson occasionally reads his newspaper and then back to him. Watson shrugged, “You settled yourself in the seat, fiddled with the tableware for a few minutes, and then assumed this position,” he gestured Sherlock’s form, “then stayed in that pose for an hour and a half. Pray tell, what were you thinking so intently about that required your mind palace? Unless Greg called and you didn’t tell me. Which, I highly doubt would be possible.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “John, while your petty attempts at deducing are always welcomed, they are nothing but obvious.”

“Why do I even bother, then,” John muttered, grabbing the spoon and twirling his tea, “simple inquiry is all. If you truly didn’t care for me to know a simple ‘no’ would suffice. But this is Sherlock ‘lets-remind-John-of-how-much-of-a-stupid-bloke-he-is’ Holmes.”

“I never stated you were stupid,” Sherlock replied calmly, “simply that the deduction was nothing out of the ordinary. Obviously, if I was to have a case, you would be the first I’d inform, and obviously, I’ve entered my mind palace, as I seem to be in deep concentration.”

John graced him an unimpressed look, before leaning back to his chair, “That a yes or no?”

Sherlock sighed, “why must you insist on knowing?”

Watson frowned, shrugging, “To help,” he answered simply, “if it’s taking this long in your Mind Palace, perhaps we can talk over it together. You can bounce thoughts off of my obvious suggestions, or we can go exploring whatever sites you need to look over,” he went to sip his tea again and realized it was empty. He stared at the cup in confusion before making a light grimace and placing the teacup back on its coaster.

“You’ve been watching me for a while,” Sherlock realized, glancing at the cup. John blinked, his eyes widened slightly, and his body froze. He made no reply to this statement. “And now you are trying to think up of an excuse or retaliation,” he followed up as he looked him over.

John’s shoulders slumped and he began to drum his fingers on the table, “well, yes, I have,” he looked away, with a pinched expression and then turned back to Sherlock, “You…uh,” he frowned in thought, trying to gather his words, “you muttered ‘you belong in my heart’,” John’s eyes jumped back and forth between Sherlock’s, “I wondered what it could be.”

“You sat in front of me in case I uttered something else,” Sherlock voiced out in a monotone voice.

The doctor leaned forward, “You can’t blame me for wondering. You have a lot in that Palace of yours, but heart? What, or who, could possibly be pulling that statement out of you?” Sherlock stared at Watson for a long time. His eyes narrowed at him, and the shorter man shifted uncomfortably. This went on for about a minute, and John was just about to voice his discomfort when Sherlock stood up abruptly and patted the table, “Conversation for another day, Watson,” he then wandered into his room and shut the door.

Sherlock needed to finish coming into terms with his own thoughts before he even considered voicing these outrages theories forming in his head. But it was no theory that John Watson was indeed, his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope they weren't too OOC; I really like this series, but I still haven't felt confident enough to characterize them fully, hence why I tried to keep this short. Once I do, I may very well write more fics of these two!


End file.
